


one sentimental moment (in your arms)

by EmAndFandems



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, LOVE that this is already a tag, M/M, Mornings, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Poetry, Post-Canon, Strawberries, yeah that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems
Summary: It's a rare day when Crowley wakes up before Aziraphale does, but today he's left a nice surprise for Aziraphale to find.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 82





	one sentimental moment (in your arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Once again this first appeared on tumblr, find me @lazarusemma! Title is from Queen's "One Year of Love."

When Aziraphale wakes up, he’s alone in the room. The sheets are still warm, though. Crowley can’t have been gone long. Aziraphale stretches, pulls on a dressing robe, and heads to the kitchen to prepare the first cocoa of the day. He’s going for the milk when he sees the words Crowley’s left for him on the fridge, just at eye level, so Aziraphale wouldn’t miss them:

_ morning angel _

Aziraphale smiles. As magnet poetry goes, it’s a short piece. The other words are scattered around the fridge door haphazardly, victims of Crowley’s search for the right ones—except for the remnants of yesterday’s poem, Aziraphale notes; his own arrangement of words is still mostly intact. His chest warms.

Angel of the morning: that’s him. From the very start, thinks Aziraphale, stationed at the eastern gate to observe the first sunrise. Angel of firsts and beginnings.

“Hey,” says Crowley from behind him, already back with fresh strawberries, the getting of which is the only thing known to take him out of bed before Aziraphale; and then there’s a pair of arms around Aziraphale’s waist.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says. “Hello, dear. What a lovely sentiment you’ve left for me.”

“I don’t do sentiment,” Crowley protests. “What’re you on about?”

Aziraphale points.

Crowley kisses the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Love, still not seeing it.”

“You didn’t leave this poem for me?” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow despite having his back to Crowley. “Funny, I wasn’t aware we were cohabiting with tiny elves.”

Crowley laughs. “No, that’s not a poem.”

“No?” Aziraphale pouts, twisting in Crowley’s arms to face him, for better effect, and so he can kiss the very tip of Crowley’s nose and see him turn pink. “And why not?”

“S’just a sentence. Half a sentence, really, and missing all the points.”

“Points?”

“Y’know. Punctuation. No commas in this set.”

Aziraphale replays the words in his mind, recalls the poem, and understands. “Ah.”

Crowley takes advantage of his preoccupation to steal another kiss. “You thought it was musings on the nature of mornings or something, didn’t you. Sap.”

“I’d be careful with that word, Crowley, darling. I saw you last week. Crying over  _ my  _ poem.” Aziraphale watches Crowley flush to match the new-bought berries. “It was very endearing. Standing right here, you know. This very spot.”

Crowley groans. “Can I bribe you to forget that happened?”

Bribing angels is properly demonic behavior. Accepting bribes is not wholly angelic, but Aziraphale settles for the price of a home-cooked breakfast with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Not to sound like a broken record over here but please for the love of everything you hold dear leave me a comment!


End file.
